


A Broken Promise

by ErinTimber



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinTimber/pseuds/ErinTimber
Summary: just another oneshot since i'm playing through the series again. hawke's story, especially how i always play her, is so sad to me. so-- i wrote about it. i hope you enjoyed~
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	A Broken Promise

Hawke had vowed to protect her family. When her father passed, leaving her to watch over her younger siblings and her mother, she promised she would protect them. She promised she’d do anything she could to keep them safe and happy.   
And for a while, she did. She kept Bethany safe from the templars, stepped in when Carver got into petty fights with the other boys in the village, and helped her mother with cleaning, cooking, gardening -- anything she needed.   
Then the Blight happened. Hawke and Carver had to run all the way from Ostagar and back to Lothering, and by the time they got back to their family home, it was already overrun by Darkspawn. They were everywhere -- setting things on fire, killing mercilessly, dragging away survivors to who knows where. Luckily, Bethany and Leandra were unharmed, and they fled from Lothering, from their home Leandra and Malcolm had built from the ground up.  
Hawke didn’t want to leave. The small village, though far from pristine, had been her home all of her life. She loved it, and leaving it behind broke her heart. But her family was what was important, and she would get them safely away from the Darkspawn, no matter what. Wherever they were, wherever they went, that was where her home was.  
They were almost free when the ogre came. Carver, always brash and quick to step in, tried to protect their mother from the enormous creature. Hawke couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to, watching as the ogre reached down and grabbed Carver, slamming him on the ground once, twice, before tossing him away as if he were nothing more than a useless doll. She couldn’t even run over to him because she had to stop this thing before it killed Bethany or her mother or the two refugees she had run into who were following along to try to get to safety as well.   
The battle was over in a flash, and her mother was huddled over Carver, trying to get him to wake up. But Hawke knew the force in which the ogre had smashed him into the ground, Carver’s neck or spine surely broke on impact. He was gone. Her little brother, despite their differences and their tendencies to argue and compete all the time, was gone.   
She wanted to cry and could feel the tears burning in the back of her eyes, but she needed to get them away from here. As much as she wanted to grieve, they didn’t have the luxury or the safety to do so. It hurt when her mother pointed the blame to her, saying it was her fault that Carver was gone. And she was right. Hawke froze when she saw the ogre, and because of it, Carve had to step up for her, and now he was gone.   
But she ignored the sharp pain in her chest. She couldn’t lose Bethany and her mother, too.   
It was… quite strange having Flemeth, the fabled With of the Wilds swoop down in dragon form, frying Darkspawn before helping them safely get to Kirkwall. It sounded like a made up story, but she honestly didn’t care what it sounded like to other people. She was grateful to the Witch for helping them, even if it had ultimately ended up being for her own gain  
The initial welcome to Kirkwall was a little rough and they weren’t greeted with the estate her mother promised, but they were away from the Darkspawn, safe inside the city. She was worried for Bethany because of all the Templars, but she made sure Bethany was never alone, made sure she always came with her wherever she went in an attempt to divert the Templars attention away from her.   
The Deep Roads was the wrong place to take Bethany. Hawke should’ve listened to her mother when she begged her to leave Bethany behind, but she couldn’t protect Bethany from the Templars if she was in the Deep Roads. Little did she know, the Deep Roads was the worst place to take her.   
Despite Bartand sealing them in an unknown thaig, despite the amount of trouble they went through on an expedition that was supposed to go smoothly, Hawke believed everything was okay by the time they got to the familiar route they had been on earlier. Before she could even breathe her sigh of relief, Bethany collapsed, and when Hawke looked at her, she looked like Wesley. Pale, pupils milky white, veins prominent and a dark blue, almost black. Hawke’s body ran cold, her blood turning to ice, her heart dropping to her stomach as she stared at her sister in horror. Despite nausea churning in her stomach, she dropped down next to Bethany, brushing her black hair out of her face, feeling how hot and clammy her forehead was, soaked with sweat.   
Tears stung at her eyes, and she knew there was nothing to do for her. It was too long to get back up to the surface, and Bethany would be gone by the time they got home.   
Bethany made her promise to take care of mother. Hawke, with a shaky voice and tears threatening to run down her face, said she would. She didn’t want to, but she knew a knife was a sweeter release than the corruption flowing through Bethany’s veins. She ended her sister’s life as gently as she could, repeating over and over again how sorry she was as she watched the beautiful spark her sister always carried melt out of her.   
And they left her there. They left her sister’s body in the Deep Roads to become food for whatever creature stumbled upon her, and it made Hawke sick to her stomach. She tried not to think about it as they made their way back to Kirkwall, tried to focus on getting back home safely so her mother didn’t lose her last child, but she felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind with her sister.   
She dreaded telling her mother. She dreaded walking into her uncle’s home, dreaded it when her mother was happy she was back, but soon the happiness and relief was replaced with confusion when she didn’t see Bethany. Telling her mother that Bethany was gone broke her heart, and she followed her mother to the floor as she collapsed and began crying. Hawke wanted to cry, too, but she felt she didn’t have the right to do so. It was her fault Bethany was gone, it was her fault Carver was gone, it was her fault her mother’s heart was broken. Now all she had left was her mother, and she vowed to make sure she was protected.   
The coin they got from the expedition helped them get their family estate back, and even though Hawke had lived most of her life in a barely standing home, she felt right in the mansion, felt at place. She could tell her mother, even though still grieving over the loss of her youngest children, was happy. Her mother looked like she belonged in a pretty, flowing dress in front of the large fireplace. It was what she deserved.   
Everything seemed right for the first time since they came to Kirkwall. She felt like she could finally breathe.   
That was when Fenris stole her attention. Well, he had her attention the moment they first met, and she, of course, flirted with him during their calmer hours, but now Fenris needed real help. Slavers had come after him, and now his master’s apprentice was here, sent to get him back. Hawke wasn’t going to allow that, knowing full well how Fenris despised Danarius. Even if the hatred for his former master wasn’t there, she knew the magister had tormented Fenris, and she wasn’t going to let Danarius have him back.   
She helped him find Hadriana, and she watched as he killed her. She tried to comfort him after the fact when she saw how upset the whole ordeal made him, but he didn’t accept it. He was too distraught, and even though Hawke made it clear she was there for him, he left.   
She couldn’t find him after that. He wasn’t waiting outside of the cave, he wasn’t at his mansion, he wasn’t at the Hanged Man. After searching the rest of the day for him, Hawke finally called it quits and went home, and… well, she was rather surprised to see Fenris there.   
She felt bad for him. His whole life he had been tormented, and even though he had killed Hadriana, had ended the torment, he didn’t feel free. Hawke wanted to help him, break those chains so badly, but with Danarius still alive, still hunting for him, she couldn’t.   
Fenris almost left then. Hawke didn’t know why she stopped him, but she did. Admittedly, the anger he showed her when he grabbed her startled her, and she stared at him in surprise as her breathing picked up. His expression was quick to change from anger to a softer one, and as he backed away, Hawke was suddenly lurching forward to slam her lips against his. She nicked her lip on her tooth by accident as she did so, but she ignored it because he was soon kissing her back. The feeling that she had felt in her stomach, fluttering and light, had been completely new for her, and it stole her breath away as she pulled Fenris closer.  
She didn’t know how it escalated so quickly, but soon Fenris was in her bed, and she could see all of his lyrium markings. Even though she knew it had caused him excruciating pain, and it still hurt even now, she found them absolutely beautiful. The stark white against his tanned skin was stunning, and she found her fingers tracing over them as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, her chest.   
It passed by too quickly, and they fell asleep together. But when she woke up, Fenris was completely clothed and staring into the fire. She could tell something was wrong, and she desperately wanted to help Fenris through this rather upsetting experience, but he pushed her away. She briefly caught sight of the red wrapped around his wrist before he turned away from her, head bowed down as he walked out of her room, looking like a kicked puppy.   
She thought about Fenris every day after that. She still brought him along, of course, and everyone had started to ask about them, but she tried not to talk about it. She didn’t understand what happened, why Fenris left, why he refused to speak to her about it now, and admittedly, it hurt. Not enough to break her resolve or prevent her from cracking jokes, but she missed his touch already, wished she didn’t have to sleep alone and let her nightmares continue to plague her with no one there to fight them away. And admittedly, they had gotten worse, tormenting her with her guilt.  
Hawke should have paid more attention. Because she was heart broken, she busied herself with trivial tasks, helping the templars, helping random strangers, killing creatures. She was hardly ever home now, and when she was, she was locked in her room, resting from her exhausting matters as well as she could. She should have noticed the white lilies that were sitting on the table, should have caught the red flags when her mother was suddenly buying more dresses, was going out to meet some unknown person, when she didn’t come home. If it wasn’t for her uncle, worried about her not showing up for their daily get-together… well, she tried not to think about it.   
Her eyes burned as she followed the blood trail in Lowtown, sprinting, tripping over her own feet, and Fenris, Isabela, and Anders could hardly keep up. She felt sick to her stomach when they walked into the familiar foundry, shaking as she looked everywhere for her mother. A sense of dread chilled her to the very bone when she found the hidden trap door, and she feared the worst as her and her friends climbed down into the cellar.  
Each creature that blocked her way, she killed fiercely, harshly, crudely. She didn’t care about her clean cuts anymore, she didn’t care about eyeing them first to find their weaknesses. She cut and stabbed and sliced until she could break free and keep running through the foundry. She needed to find her mother, and she didn’t have time for random corpses and shades to get in her way. The excuse of a bedroom she found with a painting portraying a woman all too similar to her mother for comfort made her skin crawl. She felt disgusting in this place, and it didn’t help the heavy weight of dread in her stomach. It boosted her anxiety, and she knew if she spent even a second longer here, she would surely have a panic attack.  
When she found the mage -- Quentin -- she was in no mood for idle chatter or listening to his monologue of his mad schemes. She just wanted her mother back.   
She demanded he give Leandra back, screamed at him as her fingers gripped the hilts of her daggers so tightly that her knuckles ached, the bones pressed so hard against her skin that it was bleached white. The cool, calm way he laughed and continued to talk about his plans only caused the anger to burn hotter, brighter, and she wanted nothing more than to throw a dagger into his fucking skull.   
The movement coming from the chair next to him drew her attention away from the mage, and as the shambling body turned to face her, Hawke’s blood ran ice cold, her bones tingled with horror, her heart dropped to her stomach and a sickening nausea burned in her gut. The face staring back at her, eyes dulled, skin greyed, crude stitches littered all over her body, piecing her together. She wanted to throw up, wanted to rush over to her, but Quentin didn’t give her the luxury to even process her horror before raising more dead, summoning shades and demons, and attacking her.   
She fought with a brutality she had never fought with before, killed each corpse, each shade, each demon as tears stung at her eyes. It was incredibly difficult to even see what she was doing, her vision blurry from the hot tears that she kept trying to blink back. She stabbed Quentin over and over again, screaming at him until she saw the life finally fade from his crazed eyes.   
She was panting, trying her hardest to remember how to breathe, but the shuffling of heavy feet stole her breath away, what little she had managed to catch. She shakily ran over to her mother, catching her as she fell, going to the ground with her. She repeated ‘no’ over and over again as her fingers hovered over the crude stitches, over her mother’s sickly face, finally reaching down to brush the stray grey strands out of her mother’s face. She begged Anders to help, tears threatening to overflow, blurring her vision as she looked up at him. Her heart broke when he said there was nothing he could do and when his amber eyes softened with sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted her mother to be okay.  
Even as her mother said she was proud of Hawke, even as she said she was glad to see her father, see Bethany and Carver again, the heavy weight of grief and dread didn’t listen. She choked on her own voice as she apologised for failing her mother, holding her tighter, shakily breathing. The moment her mother’s dull eyes lost focus and her violated body went limp, Hawke’s resolve broke.   
She felt the scream bubble up in her chest before she let it out, hot, fat tears flowing down her cheeks as she held onto her mother, fingers digging into the dirty wedding dress she had on. She screamed until her voice broke, until her throat ran raw, until she couldn’t breathe, and she choked on rough sobs as she rested her forehead against her mother’s, which was already ice cold.   
She had failed. She had failed her father, she had failed Carver, she had failed Bethany, she had failed her mother. Her one job, her one duty, and she couldn’t even protect her family. She was all alone now, stuck in a mansion that her mother was supposed to live in the rest of her life, wearing silk and drinking tea and warming up by the fire. This wasn’t how she was supposed to go. Her mother would never see her get married, would never see her grandchildren, would never…   
It took Isabela and Fenris both to pull her away from her mother’s body. She clung on even though there was nothing left to hold onto until Anders pried her fingers off of Leandra. She vaguely heard Anders tell them to get Hawke out of there as Fenris wrapped his arms around Hawke and led her out of the foundry. The cool night air did little to soothe her, and the heavy weight of dread and grief soon gave way to a numbness that scared her. Tears still ran down her face, but she could no longer make any noise regardless of how tight her chest was.   
Fenris walked her home and handed her off to Bodahn, who quickly rushed her inside and gave her a cup of tea. She didn’t touch it. She didn’t want tea. She wanted her mother back. She wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep forever, maybe wake up and this would all be some cruel nightmare tormenting her resting mind again.   
But she had to wait for Gamlen to come back. She had to wait and… tell him that her mother was gone.   
The way her uncle’s voice wavered after Hawke told him cut deep into her already broken heart. She was hunched over herself, arms wrapped around her body, and she choked on a sob as her uncle put the blame on her. She didn’t know if he regretted what he said as she buried her face in her hands, but she didn’t care because she knew he was right. As he walked out, told her to take care, she broke again. She cried into her hands, her voice hoarse and raw as her entire body shook with the force of her sobs.  
It hurt. It hurt so bad, and she had to suffer alone. She couldn’t even run to Fenris now, not knowing what they were, and he’d be the only one she would feel comfortable enough to see her like this. Though Isabela and Anders already saw her break down, she didn’t want them to see… this. This was more. This was a bitter, cruel feeling, this was pain that ate her up to the very core. She was supposed to be the strong one, she was supposed to be the happy, charming one, but she couldn’t find the bright side anymore. Any light in her life, it had all been destroyed, shattered before her very eyes, not even giving her a chance to try to save it.  
By the time she finally managed to stop crying, she numbly made her way up to her room. She tried to ignore her mother’s door, but she couldn’t. Her direction changed and she opened her mother’s room and choked. It was as pristine as ever, but it was lacking the one thing Hawke wanted to find in there. She shuffled inside, shaking, and found one of her mother’s shawls on the bed. She grabbed it, wrapped it around her shoulders, and choked again when she smelled the familiar perfume her mother had always worn. She wanted to sleep in her bed, but she didn’t think her shattered self could handle that right now. Her shaking hand had covered her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing shakily behind her palm as she whimpered into her hand. Fuck, she felt so… pathetic, so helpless.   
When Fenris found her, she was sitting in front of the fireplace in her room, staring at the flames with her mother’s shawl around her shoulders, and Major curled up next to her. The mabari looked up at Fenris, gave a small noise as a greeting, and put his head back down on Hawke’s leg.   
She didn’t look up at him as he spoke. Just his voice was so comforting, even if she wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying. When she heard him turn to leave, she whimpered and shook her head.   
“Please don’t go,” she whispered, her fingers tightening their hold on the shawl. She could tell Fenris hesitated before sitting down next to her, and she was so, so relieved to feel his arm wrap around her and pull her close. She wanted to cry again, but she didn’t have anything left in her to do so. She blindly reached for Fenris’ hand, holding it tight as she drew in shaky breaths.   
“Did I fail her?” she asked quietly, and she didn’t even recognise her own voice. She sounded so… small, so fragile. She didn’t like it.   
“I don’t think I can answer that, Hawke,” Fenris said, his own voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly would break her even more.  
Hawke nodded numbly, reaching up to drag a hand across her swollen face. Maker, her eyes felt so heavy, so swollen, and they were stinging from staring at the bright flames. She didn’t want to sleep though, knowing full well she would only see her mother’s face, see those awful stitches, and she didn’t want to.   
“I should’ve… paid more attention, Fenris. I lost… everyone. I couldn’t even save my own family. I promised my father and I failed him.” Her voice cracked, threatening more tears despite her eyes begging not to. Her lip quivered and she quickly bit down on it, drawing a few more shaky breaths through her nose.   
Fenris’ hold tightened around her, but he didn’t say anything. She didn’t blame him. What could he say? Her mother had just been killed by a deranged blood mage. What comfort could he give after that?  
But his presence relieved the hurt just a little bit. She felt like she could start to breathe again, even if the days to come would only haunt her. Maker, she didn’t want to deal with a city full of problems right now. Especially when those problems had led to where she was now, broken in front of her fireplace with her mother dead by some mad man’s hand.   
“You did everything in your power. You’re only one woman, Hawke. You can’t save everyone,” Fenris said after a long pause.   
Hawke nodded, even if Fenris’ attempt at comforting only went skin deep and didn’t truly go far enough to mend the shattered remains of her heart. She fell silent then, letting her heavy, swollen, stinging eyes finally shut, a soothing burn spreading across her eyelids now that she was finally trying to relax. Fenris stayed with her until she fell asleep, until her body went lax against his, and he picked her up and tucked her into bed. He stayed with her until an hour had passed, making sure she was sound asleep, making sure her heartbreak wouldn’t come to haunt her in her sleep before standing, kissing her forehead as lightly as possible, and leaving her to wake up alone once more.

**Author's Note:**

> just another oneshot since i'm playing through the series again. hawke's story, especially how i always play her, is so sad to me. so-- i wrote about it. i hope you enjoyed~


End file.
